


of invasive thoughts and teenage hormones

by TroglodyteMonologue



Series: oh my god, they were roommates [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fantasizing, Feelings Realization, Idiots in Love, Kageyama Tobio is Bad at Feelings, M/M, Masturbation, Porn with Feelings, Sexual Fantasy, probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:27:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26870635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TroglodyteMonologue/pseuds/TroglodyteMonologue
Summary: Volleyball and victory are always in the back of his mind. It’s constant; like a buzz under his skin. Like an addiction. He hears the smack of a hands against leather and the squeaking of shoes on the court floor in his dreams.But there are times when he can quiet his ambitions just long enough to think of other things. Like places he would like to visit. People he wants to see. Things he wants to do so he doesn’t waste his youth. Things that have nothing to do with volleyball.He is a teenager, after all.On a night where he has to begrudgingly share a hotel bed with his partner, Tobio Kageyama has two profound realizations: 1) His mind is much dirtier than he thought, and 2) He likes Shoyo Hinata more than he should.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio
Series: oh my god, they were roommates [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2025176
Comments: 13
Kudos: 288





	of invasive thoughts and teenage hormones

He is _fine_ with Hinata. 

Hinata is the anomaly Kageyama cannot ignore. Not because he is loud, which he is. And not because he is obnoxious, which he is. But because he is raw talent and potential in human form. He demands to be seen, heard, and respected. He demands to stand by Kageyama’s side like it is his god given right to do so. Hinata practically ripped the choice from Kageyama’s hands. He gave Kageyama an offer he could never refuse, dangling the chance at glory in front of him like a carrot. Trying to ignore Hinata is like trying to block out the sun at high noon.

So, Kageyama _had_ to be fine with Hinata. They didn’t have to be friends. They could be partners. Teammates. A ‘you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours’ sort of arrangement.

Therefore, he didn’t have to _kill_ Hinata for taking too long in the shower.

Kageyama bangs his fist against the bathroom door three times. The white noise of falling water is muffled through the barrier, but Kageyama hears Hinata choke out a sound of surprise all the same. Kageyama can feel the heat seeping through the crack at the base of the door and the warmth wisping over his toes beckons even stronger. He bangs on the door twice more.

“C’mon, dumbass!” he calls. “You’ve been in there for nearly half an hour! Stop wasting water!” 

Kageyama presses his hands to his hips and waits for a response. A few seconds later, the shower handle squeaks as the water shuts off. “That wasn’t thirty minutes!” Hinata yells through the door, voice bouncing off the tiles and making him seem bigger than he is.

“Yes it was! Now get out so I can clean up and go to sleep!” Kageyama argues back. He fetches his towel from the bed in a huff, drapes it over his shoulder, and crouches to rifle through his duffle bag for clean sleeping clothes and his bag of travel sized toiletries. 

The bathroom door opens with a billow of steam and Hinata steps into the room with a towel wrapped around his waist. He looks so much smaller without clothes and with his wet hair flopped down. His skin is practically pink, cheeks and nose flushed even darker, from what Kageyama can only assume is water at a scalding temperature. But he seems content and rejuvenated. Hinata shakes out his mop of orange hair like a dog and looks at his partner with mild irritation. “That was fifteen minutes. Max,” he says. 

“Twenty five minutes. _Minimum_ ,” Kageyama retorts with a flat, annoyed expression. Hinata makes a set of mocking, immature faces but Kageyama is too worn to pick another fight. So he stands and makes for the shower. 

Per usual, Hinata bounces back like their fight is nothing. “Hey, do you think it costs money for that stuff in the fridge? Or is it included?” he asks.

Kageyama shrugs, “How should I know?” His eyes fixate on the water pooled in the dip of Hinata’s collarbone. For someone so slight, the hollow is pronounced. It’s a strange thing to notice.

Hinata wanders to the mini fridge sitting in the corner. He trails water across the carpet without a care. “Just seems like a waste if it’s free and we don’t have any of it, ya know?” The orange haired teenager grins. He opens the door and fumbles around a bit before sighing, “Aw, man there isn’t any alcohol.”

Kageyama rolls his eyes, even though he would have absolutely tried a beer if there was one. “It’s not _free_. Coach and Sensei paid for the rooms. If it says ‘complimentary’ then it’s already been paid for. That’s how money works.”

Hinata cracks open a can of soda and turns on his partner. “We’re not on the court right now; you don’t have to be such a party pooper.” He seems particularly playful for some reason. The grin he hides behind the can is usually saved for other people.

“Is that what this is supposed to be? A party?” Kageyama knows he can be a little more hospitable, but he’s tired.

“Of course!” Hinata exclaims, like it’s obvious. “No parents! No coaches! No teachers! We can go hang out in someone else’s room! Or invite someone over to ours! We can get some snacks from the vending machine down the hall and watch funny game shows all night!” 

Unfortunately for Hinata, it is Kageyama’s modus operandi to absolutely poop on parties. He frowns and reiterates, “I want to sleep.”

Hinata deflates like a sad little orange balloon and floats to his chosen side of the bed.

Kageyama doesn’t feel an ounce of pity. “I found another blanket in the closet so we don’t have to share. Choose whichever you want,” he says.

“I’ll just take the blanket. I end up kicking off covers anyways,” Hinata shrugs. When he plops onto the bed, the split in his towel widens and practically exposes his whole left cheek.

Kageyama grimaces. “Change first, dumbass. I don’t want to go to bed in wet sheets,” he says. The taller teenager crosses the bathroom threshold and revolves, one hand on the handle. “And if you kick me, I’m gonna make you sleep on the floor.”

Hinata sticks out his tongue and Kageyama shuts the door.

The air in the small room is heavy and warm. The leftover steam has room to escape through a small, whirring vent in the ceiling, but it isn’t particularly efficient. It’s a strange thing to note, but the room smells like Hinata. Kageyama doesn’t make an effort to know what his teammates smell like; he couldn’t even say what his own family smelled like. But with one breath he knows who occupied the room last. Concrete descriptors escape him because Kageyama doesn’t have an imagination like that. ‘Warm’ is the only word that comes to his mind.

Kageyama steps through a puddle made by Hinata’s carelessness and curses. He probably shouldn’t have worn socks into a recently used bathroom but he wants to blame it on his teammate, so he will. He peels off his socks, pulls off his shirt, and steps out of his shorts and underwear. What isn’t wet he folds and puts on the counter with his clean clothes.

The water is hot coming out of the shower head and Kageyama wastes no time stepping beneath the spray. He breathes in deep and sighs out some of the tension from his muscles. The camp had him running at a hundred and ten percent for a week straight. It was worth it for the outcome; for that perfect, open-eyed quick attack. But sleep had become a luxury and a shower longer than a hose down was near impossible with dozens of guys packed into one gym locker room. As long as he doesn’t take longer than twenty-five minutes, Kageyama won’t be a hypocrite. Because he’ll be damned if Hinata calls him on that.

He washes first because he wants to spend most of his twenty-four minutes just standing under the water. He rinses away the sweat and makes quick work of his hair with a two in one shampoo. As long as he’s clean, it doesn’t matter to him. When he’s done, the bathroom smells like a mixture of them both: warm and... crisp.

Kageyama presses his palms flat against the dark blue tile in front of him and lets his head hang down, allowing the warm water to cascade over his shoulders and down his back. He closes his eyes and lets his head clear out. Volleyball and victory are always in the back of his mind. It’s constant; like a buzz under his skin. Like an addiction. He hears the smack of a hands against leather and the squeaking of shoes on the court floor in his dreams. 

But there are times when he can quiet his ambitions just long enough to think of other things. Like places he would like to visit. People he wants to see. Things he wants to do so he doesn’t waste his youth. Things that have nothing to do with volleyball.

He is a teenager, after all.

Kageyama’s go-to fantasy involves very little. He is not a particularly experienced or creative person. He imagines laying back against his bed, pressed into the covers by the boy straddling his lap. The boy is shorter than he is and smiles a lot. He thinks Kageyama is cool for being so stoic and intimidating, and tells him so repeatedly. The boy has eager, wandering hands and does most of the work. Because, contrary to his usual authoritarian self, Kageyama would have no idea what to do in a bedroom situation. He doesn’t move and act on instinct like Hinata does.

Kageyama’s brow furrows and he rubs the back of his neck.

_Why did I think of him all of a sudden? Of all people._

Kageyama pointedly imagines the boy with neutral, chestnut brown hair. Not wild and orange. They kiss. Kageyama isn’t entirely sure what that would feel like either. He imagines warm hands cradling his jaw, carding his own fingers through the boy’s hair, and eyelashes fluttering against his cheek. Logistically, he knows that’s awkward and strange but he likes the idea of it. The boy is braver than him and begins to roll his hips, slow but eager. They do that for a long, long time. 

It’s a quiet affair, because Kageyama imagines they would have to be if they were in his house. He imagines a gentle creak of the bed and hot breath panted against his lips. And then fantasy-Kageyama summons up his courage and slides a hand underneath the boy’s shirt. He’s athletic and compact and shivers at the touch. The boy whispers Kageyama’s first name. That’s the signal to push the black and orange jersey with the printed number ten over his head —

Kageyama’s eyes fly open.

_Dammit._

Hinata is as intrusive in his mind as he is in real life. More intrusive than volleyball, apparently.

Kageyama sighs and looks down, blinking away the water dripping over his eyes. He’s half hard. Which is, in his opinion, a particularly frustrating situation to be in. With a little bit of cold water he could reverse the fantasy, save it for when he got home, and just go to sleep. Or, with a little more effort, he could have a little more relief and sleep even more soundly. As he contemplates his dilemma, Kageyama’s eyes notice something on the wall in front of him. He blinks. Then freezes.

Innately, he knows what it is. He’s seen the same milky splash on the tiles of his own bathroom wall plenty of times; Kageyama put it there himself. But the possibility is so obscene, his brain refuses to process it.

Kageyama stands to his full height and takes a cautious step back. His own shampoo and bodywash are transparent, so it isn’t that. He turns his attention to the rack in the corner where Hinata’s products sit. No conditioner, just clear shampoo and warm-smelling bar soap.

His secondary reaction is disgust.

_So gross! He doesn’t even have the decency to wash it away! He knew I was going to use it after him!_

Kageyama reaches for the shower head and turns it toward the wall. The angle is too steep and the spray can’t clean away what remains of Hinata’s playing around. The more he looks at the mess, the more flustered Kageyama becomes. It has trickled down the length of several tiles and is glaringly obvious against the dark blue. There is a surprising amount for someone so small. Kageyama couldn’t ignore it now if he tried. 

Before Kageyama realizes it, the image has crept up on him. Hinata quaking under the shower spray, leaning against the wall on one hand and a loose fist around himself with the other. It’s vivid. It’s nothing like the hazy, faceless workings of Kageyama’s other fantasy. He can imagine Hinata’s lips parted, he can feel the steam, the warm scent hits his nose twice as potent as before; it sends all of his senses into a whirlwind. 

Kageyama flushes. He tries to shake the vision away, but his subconscious mind betrays him. He imagines a gasp, the muscles of Hinata’s back shifting, and an adventurous twist of his wrist. Hinata’s face is relaxed. He feels no shame for what he does and doesn’t appear desperate for the end like Kageyama sometimes is. Hinata is unhurried in his enjoyment, even smiles a little when he grips himself tighter.

And Kageyama… wants to feel what _he_ feels. Whatever it is that makes Hinata grin to himself and makes his eyelashes flutter. 

No matter the situation, Hinata’s elation is palpable. At practice, playing against a tough opponent, eating convenience store food in the street with his teammates; Hinata’s happiness is infectious. He wears his heart on his sleeve, screams his dreams at the top of his lungs, and indulges himself when he ought to be a little more prudent.

Kageyama used to think such displays were stupid. Now, he is envious. As fantasy-Hinata rends his bottom lip between his teeth to keep back a full smile, Kageyama realizes he has never known that type of unbridled, guiltless pleasure.

“Ah!” the fantasy cries, but the sound tumbles from Kageyama’s own lips.

The reflexive urge shakes him from his cloudy headspace and Kageyama clamps a hand over his mouth. He waits, nervous, though he doubts his teammate heard anything over the rush of water. And if he did, he probably wouldn’t say anything.

A few long moments pass before Kageyama looks down. He’s hard. Completely. From experience he knows he’s past the point of no return. And his mind is stuck on the one person he _doesn’t_ want to think about. Or rather, the person he shouldn’t _want_ to think about.

He should have just turned the water cold and gone to sleep.

Kageyama rubs his face with both hands and lets out a low, frustrated groan. There is nothing else he can do. He just has to get it over with. Kageyama leans forward on one arm, closes his eyes, and wraps his hand around the base of his cock. He refuses to look down at the splash on the wall. He wills himself back into his usual fantasy.

He imagines a classmate he thinks is cute. No one noteworthy, but he’s got a nice face and a different color from Hinata. Kageyama feels mildly bad for using the image of them, but if it gets Hinata’s face out of his mind then it is for the best. He rewinds and goes back to the kissing. It works, in the beginning. The easy, slow drag of his hand sends low, rippling waves of pleasure through Kageyama’s body. He times each roll of his classmate’s hips with each pump of his hand, gradually speeding up the rhythm. He relaxes, leans his head against his forearm.

Kageyama thinks he’ll actually make it without another mishap. His abdomen tightens and his heart pounds faster when the classmate starts kissing up the length of his neck. Their mouth is parted, tongue hot and textured against his skin. He swallows thick as they kiss his earlobe and lick up the shell of his ear. Kageyama has never fantasized about _that_ before. 

Suddenly, they stop. And Kageyama isn’t a voyeur to the scene. He’s experiencing it first person, staring up at his bedroom ceiling as the weight of another person pushes him against the mattress. “ _Do you think our team knows? That you think about me like this?_ ” a familiar, youthful voice whispers in his ear.

An anomaly he cannot ignore.

Kageyama grips himself at the base. That voice shouldn’t have an effect on him. Not like _that_. His eyes flutter open and his gaze is pointed directly at the mess on the wall. His flushed sex noticeably twitches in his hand. 

_Fine_ , he thinks. Because he’s run out of time to be picky, not because he’s given in. Kageyama’s eyes fix to the spot. He allows himself to be pulled in, drawn back to the reverie of Hinata shamelessly enjoying himself. Kageyama begins to stroke himself with more purpose.

He doesn’t have to fabricate anything to envision Hinata naked. Kageyama has seen that before. He’s seen nearly all of his team at least half naked at some point in the showers. But he remembers the most about Hinata. Details that he should have never noticed. He peppers them into the fantasy. Like the mole on the back of Hinata’s left shoulder. And the dimples at the base of his spine. And the too hollow dips in his collar. And how the hair south of the border is also the same fiery red as the top of his head. 

Fantasy-Hinata opens his eyes, because that’s what Kageyama wants. He wants to see those big, honey-warm brown eyes hazy with ecstacy. But even more than that, Kageyama wants to see those eyes looking right at _him_. Hinata doesn’t turn his head and his hand doesn’t stop, but his gaze slides sideways and he looks in Kageyama’s direction. 

“ _Hey, Tobio_ ,” the vision grins. When Hinata is at his absolute peak, he gets possessed. Kageyama has seen it happen in real time. Like a demon has suddenly stolen his partner’s face. The gentleness in Hinata’s gaze goes cold and flat; a single flame turns to simmering embers. Then, with no warning, he levels whoever has the misfortune to stand in his way with a single, earthshaking sentence.

“ _Hey Tobio, wanna see who can last the longest?_ ”

The climax is never what Kageyama is after. It’s the calm afterwards that he aims for; when his limbs feel languid and his mind is clear of clouds and complicated thoughts. If he was being honest, Kageyama has never found an orgasm to be particularly exciting. But it’s different this time.

A soap tray built into the tile wall is the only thing that can support him because he’s almost sure that his legs might buckle. Kageyama holds on tight, pumps his fist around his cock once, twice, and he’s gone. He screws his eyes shut and a flash of white sparks behind his eyelids. He feels it in his back, like a hot palm pressed between his shoulder blades. It creeps up the sensitive inside of his thighs, pools in his abdomen, and breaks like a slap of a hand on leather. Kageyama’s mouth drops open and he paints the tile wall in ribbons just like Hinata did before him. 

And, for once, his mind is blank. Blissfully empty. It is the most satisfied Kagyama has felt in a long time. He strokes himself a few more times, just to ease out whatever’s left, and just breathes steady — in and out — until he’s gone soft. 

When the fogginess clears, Kageyama realizes the water has gone cold. The gravity of whose face and body he just jerked off to hits him much harder than he anticipates. He feels dirty and guilty. It’s too indulgent too… too _much_. But the worst part — the absolute icing on the indecent cake he has created — is that Kageyama has to eventually leave the bathroom, look Hinata in the eye, and sleep in the same bed as him.

_Shit._

On impulse, Kageyama reaches out and wipes his fingers through the spend. He splashes water against the wall to be thorough. As his hand goes lower, working away the evidence that is too low to be his own, Kageyama’s eyes widen in realization. It’s a first. He’s never touched another guy’s… well, _anything_. In a strange way, running his fingers through the double mess feels like putting the cart before the horse. Kageyama tries not to think too hard about what he’s doing because, if he does, he’s likely to get hard again. And the last thing he needs. 

When everything is gone, Kageyama thoroughly washes his hands. He makes the mistake of using Hinata’s bar soap.

Kageyama shuts off the water, dries off, and as he changes into his clean sleeping clothes he quietly asks himself: _Why? Why Hinata?_ Kageyama has plenty of physically attractive teammates he could have fantasized about. _Why did it have to be him?_ He tells himself it could have easily been Daichi or Nishinoya, but they weren’t sharing a room together. That was it — that had to be the reason.

Kageyama re-enters the bedroom like an already convicted man. He keeps his eyes on the floor and crosses directly to where his phone is charging near the mini fridge. 

“Twenty-one minutes,” Hinata says. Kageyama makes the mistake of looking into the vanity mirror in front of him. Hinata’s reflection lays sprawled on the bed, phone in his hand and can of soda in the other. He’s wearing a shirt Kageyama has never seen on him before. It’s a somewhat tight fit, even on his slim torso, and Kageyama can see a band of skin between the hem and the elastic waistband of his shorts. Hinata has an innie belly button.

_He looks really cute tonight._

The revelation hits him like a freight train. Kageyama is not just fine with Hinata.

He _likes_ Hinata.

“It was less than that,” Kageyama manages to croak out.

It’s Hinata’s turn to roll his eyes. “Whatever. You okay? You look more constipated than usual.”

“I’m fine.” The guilt eats at him like a parasite. Kageyama scrolls through his phone for nothing in particular, just to do something with his hands. A dramatic part of him wonders if he can ever look Hinata in the face ever again. Maybe he’s gone and messed things up for both them with something as stupid and ridiculous as a crush. Kageyama resolves to make it go away. He has to focus on the things about Hinata that drive him crazy. He has to pick out every flaw, every shortcoming and rationalize himself back onto solid ground.

But first, he has to get rid of the shame that sits on his chest.

“What snacks do you want?” Kageyama asks, without looking up. But he can see Hinata’s mop of orange hair shift in his periphery.

“What?”

Kageyama turns and looks directly at him with an irritated furrow of his brows. Desperately, he wills his blush to go away. “Are you hard of hearing too? I asked what snacks you wanted.”

The smile Hinata beams at him makes Kageyama want to run far, far away. Unfortunately, he can only go as far as the end of the hotel hallway to retrieve half a dozen little bags and boxes of junk food before returning to repent for his crime. The smile Hinata gives him upon his return is even worse.

They watch television from their respective sides of the bed. Kageyama with muted interest and occasional chuckles. And Hinata with absolute sincerity and good humor. At some point, Kageyama turns his head ever so slightly, temple barely against the headboard, and looks at Hinata’s silhouette. Light from the television screen flashes over his eyes and the orange haired teenager laughs so hard he snorts.

Hinata is a natural disaster waiting to happen. He is fast and compact, like a bullet to the heart. He leaves Kageyama short for breath when he smiles like the sun and pulls him in like the magnetism and tide of the moon. He is infuriating and awe-inspiring. Watching him fly to the top of the net gives Kageyama goosebumps.

Hinata tosses a corn snack in the air. It lands beside his nose and the teenager spends the next fifteen seconds trying to work it into his mouth with his tongue. Kageyama slaps a hand against his cheek. 

_Oh my god._

Hinata is also an idiot.

**Author's Note:**

> I think i'm gonna make this into a collection. The team stays at a hotel and things get hanky panky between roomies. mmm hmmmmm.
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/trogmonologue) || [tumblr](https://troglodytemonologue.tumblr.com/)


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